Great Expectations (and Accompanying Failures)

Okay... I'm frustrated.

I know being hopeful is better than the alternative, even if it amounts to nothing. I know nothing in life would be good if it wasn't for all the bad stuff in between. I know optimism should make things happen to my advantage. AND YET, I don't think there's any worse feeling than false hope.

I just met two women who work for a prominent publication, in advertising for entertainment and fashion. They asked me about my favorite movies and tv shows, so of course I had plenty of strong opinions and I'm sure they noticed my sparkly eyes (it happens when I talk passionately about something). It's the only explanation for what happened next. One of them asked suddenly, "How tall are you?" "Um... five-six," I answered, confused by what this had to do with the latest Matthew McConaughey disaster we'd been discussing. "Have you ever modeled?" I searched her face for signs that she was mocking me, but found none. "Um, no," I replied, as my reddening cheeks erased the freckles on my nose. "Honey, you have the perfect body for modeling," she declared. "Especially for Ralph Lauren. He would love you. I can picture you on the back of a horse in a polo shirt." "Oh yeah? I used to ride horses!" I giggled, already imagining meeting Gaspard Ulliel in a photo shoot and then maybe in a hot tub later and then taking family photos with our four children - Wait, I'll have to steal him from his boyfriend first probably, I reminded myself, before snapping back to reality and a ringing phone, declaring that my visitors should be let upstairs.

They were gone for an hour, giving me plenty of time to plot the perfect escape from receptionisting (receiving? recepting? answering phones). I had already told my saviors that this was a temporary position, but I felt like I hadn't made myself seem eager or available enough. Could I slip them my email address? Jokingly ask if they could put in a good word to Ralph? BEG FOR JUST A TINY SPECK OF HUMANITY IN THIS GOD DAMN ECONOMY? My stomach was fluttering; my heart pounding every time I heard the elevator start to move.

Finally, they stepped out. The phone wouldn't stop ringing, but luckily they had to put on their jackets and get their things together. I basically hung up on three people. "Maya!" they yelled, "it was so lovely to meet you!" "Oh, it was great to meet you guys too!" I yelled right back. "Honey, do you like living in New York?" my biggest fan inquired. I had mentioned my college career in California, shamelessly bragging about the two majors and subsequent honors I'd acquired there. "Well, it's taken some getting used to," I grinned, "but it's really not so bad." "Well, you have a lovely face. Come back to LA." She started walking towards the door. "WHY?" I screamed in desperation. "Do you know of anything in LA?" "No," she laughed, "but good luck, darling!"

Just like that, they were gone. I know I should be excited just that someone thinks I COULD hypothetically be successful in such a career, but I guess I just wish someone would help me through it. Everyone knows you can't just walk into Ralph Lauren's office and demand to speak with him. CONTACTS! It's all about contacts. And shit, I just lost my only one.

This is like when that cute boy approached me at the Apple Store last week, hung around even after his iPod was retrieved from the Genius Bar, told me I was cute, and then left abruptly and inexplicably without asking for a name or number or anything. Fine, maybe that's how some people do it, just harmless meaningless flirting, but dammit I fall in love with every boy that talks to me. And it's hard to find a cute, funny mac geek who can rock khaki pants and give me compliments without seeming desperate or condescending.

In conclusion: I don't have a boyfriend or a modeling career (TWICE over, since I just this weekend failed to follow through on ANTM), so I guess... suicide, then? Who's with me? Greg, I know you're in.